


Aussiedoodle Puppy

by Quantum_Entropy



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aussiedoodle puppy, Funny, M/M, Magic, Skyrim References, Stiles is over this shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:08:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23337400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quantum_Entropy/pseuds/Quantum_Entropy
Summary: After a long, piss-dribbling night of pure terror consisting of running for his life through the midnight-dark woods withat leasteight homicidal tree-beings chasing after himfor no fucking reason, Stiles just wanted to climb into his fluffy, comfy bed andsleep. He planned to do just that. But, because nothing can ever give him a break, he walked into his room to see Zombiewolf himself sat in the middle of his floor with his fluffy, comfy sheets pulled off of his bed and onto the floor, bundled up into a fluffy, comfy nest. And squirming around inside the nest was a puppy... A tiny, matted, skinny, blood-stained puppy.Stiles wiped his hand over his sweaty face and blinked at the scene in front of him for a moment. "So," he said, "either you've developedpuppy-loving emotionsand you're actually here, in my bedroom, with a puppy... Or I've just used up more energy than my body has to supply and my brain is actively deteriorating away and I'm hallucinating this just before I die and become a half-brained corpse, which will then be horrendously mutilated by angry tree-beings... And I find the second one way easier to believe."
Relationships: Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 13
Kudos: 345





	Aussiedoodle Puppy

Stiles sprinted through the trees, breath coming out in short, frequent bursts, yelping at each whack to his face from the head-high branches he couldn't see. He flailed his hands in front of him to avoid running right into a tree because, knowing his luck right now, that tree would have a broken branch sticking out towards him and he'll skewer himself on it. And never mind the pain - that would simply be the most embarrassingly simple way to die ever.

Oh, aside from slipping in the tub and braining himself on the wall, of course, which he nearly did just this morning.

He could hear the eerie creaking of the tree-beings sprinting after him; sounding like the Draugr off of Skyrim, and it made him want to pass out in fear. Or maybe piss himself. Both, really. It was just really really scary and he was freaking out a little. He's been chased by werewolves before and that was terrifying, yes, but at least he knew what to expect. These tree-beings are an entirely new territory for him! He didn't even know why they were chasing him, or if they had a reason at all. Maybe they just didn't appreciate him trodding on their grass. Maybe he stepped on one of their little sapling babies and they're actually just vengeful parents. Maybe they're upset that his clothes are made of cotton from their distant cousins or something.

Or maybe they're hungry and they feast on human sacrifices. In any case, in his many years of experience, he's learned that there is nothing good to come from being chased at a dead sprint through the dark woods. Absolutely nothing. Ever.

Especially when it involves the Nemeton. He had been at that awful stump testing a theory about a Nemeton's ability to take on animal forms (his theory has proved null, so far), and then all of a sudden eight terrifying, gangly tree-beings came bursting out of the trees, scaring Stiles so thoroughly he spent his first few dozen yards of sprinting for his life trying to hack up the mouth-full of spit he'd inhaled.

Still running, he wondered if these tree things had anything to do with his experiment, but he was positive they were completely unrelated. Tree-beings were the furthest thing from the ghostly black cat that was supposed to appear. They're just here because the universe likes to screw him over at each turn, one after another after another.

Although, finally, he was out of the trees!

And right in the middle of a road.

A car honked and swerved around him. Stiles tripped in his sudden jerk that really wouldn't have done anything to save him from getting ran over anyway, and fell to the pavement, skinning his right arm and his left palm in the process, not that he cared much. He watched the car drive around him and speed off, then looked anxiously towards the woods. He stared and slowly pushed himself to his feet, trying to catch his breath, his fear easing slightly; the tree-beings were stood at the edge of the trees, staring at him with their dull, glowing green eyes, but stationary. They wouldn't step off of the grass.

"HA!" Stiles said loudly once he realized they weren't going to rush out and rip him apart. "That's RIGHT, you stupid plants!"

The sound of a branch breaking on the other side of the road behind him made him jump and whip around. There was nothing there, at least from what he could tell but, regardless, he took one last glance at the tree-beings and walked briskly down the middle of the road back towards town.

He pulled out his phone and waited for network connection, every once in a while cutting a glance back at the woods around him. The tree-beings had fucked off a few minutes ago to wherever the hell tree-beings would reside, but he was still paranoid.

Finally, he had bars and he called Derek.

_"What,"_ Derek growled shortly after picking up on the fifth ring. Stiles glanced up at the midnight-dark sky and remembered it's nearly one in the morning. Right.

"Look," Stiles snapped back. "I don't care how pissed you are that you had to wake up to take my call, _Sourwolf._ I just got chased all the way through the woods by angry tree-things that were trying to kill me so I _think_ your beauty sleep isn't the highest priority right now."

A pause. _"Tree-things?"_

"Yeah! Like... Tall, lanky, wooden _tree creatures!_ " Stiles ran a hand through his hair and let out a noise of disgust at the sweat that soaked his hand. "I don't know if they'd kill just anyone who walked into the woods or if it was just me they have something against but they can't seem to step off of the grass. Just... Beware, I guess, and maybe look into that."

_"Yeah,"_ Derek sighed, _"Call your dad and tell him to put up tape or something."_

"Yeah, thanks, I totally wasn't going to do that anyway." Stiles rolled his eyes, not that Derek could see it. But he'd like to think that Derek knew that it was implied.

_"What are you doing in the woods at midnight?"_ Derek asked, like a concerning afterthought that just occurred to him.

"Conjuring ghost cats!" Stiles shouted irritably and hung up. He called his dad next and didn't look forward to when his dad asked the same exact question because Stiles wouldn't be able to get out of that particular conversation as easily.

-

"Yes, well, I'm at the house now." Stiles tripped his way up to the door, scrambling for the keys in his pocket.

_"I'll be home... uh, soon."_ He listened to his dad sigh. He'd told Stiles, during that ridiculously lengthy phone call, that he's been stuck at the station dealing with a massive string of arson, streaking, vandalism, and noise complaints during a rowdy college party turned delinquent-Armageddon on the rest of the neighborhood around them. From the sounds of it, he bets his dad will sleep at his desk once the mess is over, and then wake up at 8 when his job starts again.

He wonders if his dad will even make it home until later that night.

_"And when I get home, we're having a talk about your decision to run around the woods all alone at midnight, even though you know what's out there better than everyone in this god forsaken town!!!"_

Actually, he hopes his dad won't make it home _any_ time soon.

His dad hung up after Stiles' mumbled apology and Stiles wrestled his way in the door. His muddy shoes were kicked off by the door as to not track it all the way through the house then he heaved a sigh as he carried himself up the stairs. It felt like lifting a body twice his weight with each step. All of the adrenaline from being chased by possible homicidal monsters had seemingly worn off as soon as the door was closed behind him. A hot shower (though, don't expect him to be standing the entire time. That's just too much work), fresh clothes, and his bed; that's all that was on his mind.

He got to his bedroom and planned on grabbing a change of clothes - something soft and comfy, then heading to the bathroom to shower off the sweat and dirt.

When he opened his door and first saw the state of his bed, he wanted to crumble into an ungraceful heap of sorrow. All of his fluffy, comfy sheets - everything that made his bed so inviting - it was all gone. Instead, they were on the floor and... And Peter was there.

Peter, sat in the middle of his floor, had stolen his fluffy, comfy sheets and bundled them up into a fluffy, comfy nest. And squirming around inside the nest was a puppy... A tiny, matted, skinny, blood-stained puppy.

At least, he supposed, Peter wasn't instead laying in the middle of his floor dead or something. That would be a lot worse. Stiles might still be able to continue with his plans.

Unless the tiny puppy turned out to be a man-eating monster or shifter baby or something. Then Stiles' plans would definitely be out of the question.

Stiles wiped his hand over his sweaty face and blinked at the scene in front of him for a moment. A tiny, malnourished puppy, covered in blood - possibly its own, possibly something else's. Peter Hale, sitting there with blood on his hands staring down at the miniature dog, but facial expression not particularly troubled or happy or otherwise anything helpful in discerning the nature of the situation.

"So," he said, "either you've developed _puppy-loving emotions_ and you're actually here, in my bedroom, with a puppy..." Why would Peter bring a puppy to his room at midnight? "Or I've just used up more energy than my body has to supply and my brain is actively deteriorating away and I'm hallucinating this just before I die and become a half-brained corpse, which will then be horrendously mutilated by angry tree-beings..." Peter looked up at him from the puppy and he blinked. "And I find the second one way easier to believe."

"Vivid," Zombiewolf noted before looking back down at the puppy, reaching out a hand to run a finger over its small head.

"Peter..." Stiles sighed heavily and decided he would follow through with his plans no matter what. Man-eater puppy or otherwise, he was having his damn shower. "I've just had one of the worst nights of my life... I'm going to take a shower." No response from the werewolf on his floor and Stiles frowned. That was... Strange.

Actually, it was all strange so far. Just randomly in his room in the middle of the night? With a _puppy_ of all things? No response to his snarky little rant? No response to his blatant dismissal of him? Stiles concluded that Peter was acting strange in general.

Stranger than usual.

Which is actually cause for _serious_ concern.

Peter was just staring down at the puppy in the bundle of sheets with this blank look on his face but eyes _soft._ And his fingers, stroking the small puppy with gentle care... It was so undeniably unlike the brute, death-cheating werewolf everyone knows as Peter Hale.

Stiles didn't understand.

"No witty response?" Stiles pushed, trying to make Peter act more... _Peter-ish_.

"No, go get clean," Peter said tonelessly. His head tilted down at the puppy when it tumbled off the bevel of the blankets and slipped onto its back, kicking in the air. Peter took one of it's little front paws in between his fingers and the puppy made a little playful pipping sound.

Stiles was disturbed. He frowned and stared at Peter like he was some kind of impostor while he grabbed a change of clothes. Because it sure felt like he was an impostor who had stolen abrasive, enigmatic, show-offy Peter and replaced him with someone entirely different. "I'll be back in a minute." _I'm right down the hall so if you do something crazy I'll know._

Peter looked up at him and took in a breath, blinking at him like he was snapping out of a daze. "Yeah, okay."

Stiles stared at him for a long moment when he dropped his head and looked at the puppy like it was his entire world. Then he, too, looked down at the messy ball of fur, small and innocent, but covered in blood.

What was the blood from, he wondered. What had happened? Why is Peter _here?_ Why is he acting so _weird_?

"Okay..." Stiles mumbled and made his way to the bathroom. He frowned to himself the entire time, mind trying to speed down several train tracks at once in an attempt to figure out what was happening in his room right now. He needed to know how to react, therefore he first needed to know what the hell was _going on._

Stiles got in the shower and replayed the last minute or two of events. In just those couple of minutes, he got this skin-crawling feeling that something was deeply, horribly wrong.

He jumped when he heard the sink turn on when he hadn't even heard the door open. "Peter?" Please don't be a man-eating puppy or a Peter doppelganger that likes to eat skinny virgins.

A pause, the sound of water splashing in the sink. "I tried to call Deaton," Peter said, still tonelessly. Stiles waited for something like an atom bomb to drop. "He didn't pick up. And I didn't want to deal with Derek. So I came here... I came here..." His voice had trailed off to a soft breath, and he took a long pause before saying, "There was a creature in the woods tonight."

Stiles slowly sat down under the water because damn it, his legs _ached_. "Was it... like a tree?" Did he and Peter encounter the same creatures?

"No, it was..." A short pause, then a hushed, " _terrifying._ "

Wait.

Did Peter Hale just describe something as _terrifying??_

Stiles jumped at the sudden slam on the counter and he moved to his knees to lean over and stick his head out of the shower curtain. Peter was bent over with his still-red-stained hands buried in his hair, elbows on the counter. He was _shaking_.

"I kept hearing yipping in the woods behind the house," Peter continued, voice now shaking as well. His fingers fisted in his hair hard enough to turn his knuckles white and it just reiterated that nothing happening right now was in any way _okay_. "The old house. I was... I was just visiting..." He rubbed his face and then turned back on the water, scrubbing his hands together hard under steaming-hot water frantically. "And it was... tearing apart the mother. The puppy's mother. Eating the puppies like _snacks_..."

Stiles had empathy towards small animals - of _course_ he did, so to any normal person watching puppies get snacked on by anything would be scarring. Yes. But _not_ Peter. Peter wasn't like that. Peter's watched children get ripped apart and barely batted an eye. He's ripped people apart _himself_ and, honestly, Stiles things he actually enjoys it. All that Stiles knows is that something is _very_ wrong and he doesn't know what, and that bothers him. He turned off the shower and grabbed the towel he'd set out on the toilet and began drying off, poking his head out every few seconds just to make sure Peter wasn't going to break something.

"And I-... it almost killed me. But... It tripped on the dog's body and fell and I was able to kill it - ripping out its throat didn't work at first so I had to... I had to crush its skull with a rock."

Stiles took that moment to glance back out. Peter's hands were shaking violently. And then he watched Peter's face turn venomously humorous as he let out a wet laugh that sounded more like a snarl.

"Rationally, I know that something is _making_ me scared." Stiles watched him look down at his hands and stretch them out, observing their trembling. "Maybe some defense mechanism it has. It wasn't the best at fighting but I was so _terrified_ at first that it almost got the upper hand... I know the fear isn't real, but..."

Peter shook his head and put his face in his hands again. Stiles dried quicker and then reached out to grab his clothes and hop into them, uncaring of the moisture still on his body in places.

"I thought the fear would stop once it was dead but..." Another humorless laugh, then a short pause. "That puppy was the only one left. I don't know _why_ I grabbed it. I guess I was just so... emotionally affected already..."

Stiles jumped when there was another loud slam and he jumped out of the tub, nearly getting caught in the shower curtain in the process. "Look," Stiles said, grabbing Peter's fist which somehow managed not to make an indent in the counter. He shouldered Peter out of the way and turned the water back down to a reasonable temperature. "We'll figure this out like we _always_ do, but I need you to not break everything I own in the process."

He was too tired for this shit right now.

Peter leaned against the wall, shaking and looking haunted and vulnerable, yet pissed at the same time. "I hate magic," Peter said, eyes rolling towards the ceiling in angry exasperation.

"You're telling me," Stiles mumbled, watching him from the corner of his eyes. If he puts a fist through the wall and Stiles has to explain to his dad why Peter fucking Hale was over at his house at midnight... "I have to deal with your magicked ass." He moved out of the way and grabbed the soap that he had made himself, specifically made with ingredients to get rid of blood especially, but also any other greasy, grimey, oozey substances, because normal soap just wasn't good enough for some of the disgusting shit he gets on him. "Use this."

Peter looked down at the soap Stiles held out. He sighed heavily as he reached out with his shaky hands to take the bar and began washing them. The rest of the blood that had soaked into his skin washed down the drain.

Hesitantly, Stiles patted Peter's back and then walked out of the bathroom, grimacing to himself. He's never had to deal with a _scared_ Peter Hale. Once, Derek had been tricked into believing Kate was back to kill his pack by a witch that had a serious kink for emotional manipulation. That had been _hell_. Derek had taken _weeks_ to recover and, in the thick of it, _Stiles_ was the one tasked with getting him to calm the fuck down long enough to explain what had happened. Scared Derek was difficult enough. Scared _Peter_ must be even more difficult since, you know, _unstable homicidal maniac_.

When Derek gets angry, he breaks a few household appliances. When _Peter_ gets angry, he goes on a murder-spree. When Derek gets depressed, he hides in his room for days on end. When Peter gets depressed, he hides it from everyone around him and then goes on a murder-spree. When Derek gets bored, he carves something out of wood. When Peter gets bored, _murder-spree._ When Derek gets scared, he runs and lashes out at anything near him. So far, Peter has only stolen an orphan puppy and bundled it up in Stiles' bed sheets but Stiles is just waiting for the other shoe to drop, and then, guess what, _he's going to go on a murder-spree_. Because, like Peter himself has said, _"I'm a creature of habit."_

"How long is this going to last," Peter asked from the bathroom before turning the water off. Stiles, currently staring down at the puppy and contemplating giving the poor blood-covered thing a bath, wondered about that. If the monster Peter killed had caused the fear, then it should've gone away as soon as it was dead. It could have a sort of lingering affect, but that's unlikely. It could be a sort of intoxicant, like a toxin Peter touched when he attacked the monster or something, and that will just go away with a good cleansing. Or, it could've been the first thing and the monster isn't actually dead. Peter had said ripping out its throat hadn't killed it, after all. Maybe a crushed skull wouldn't either.

But, he figured, with how freaked out Peter apparently was already, he'd keep that last thought to himself. "I don't know." God, his bed... He just wanted to _sleep_. "Let's just see if it goes away after you sleep it off." Why couldn't this have waited until he was fully rested?

He crouched down and picked the puppy up. He should bring this thing to a shelter. A vet, maybe. He might wake Deaton up in a bit... If he's unfortunate enough to still be awake, that is.

"What if it doesn't?" Peter asked from the doorway. Stiles turned and shrugged at him, walking past him and back to the bathroom. He held the puppy in his hands as he began to wash it off in the sink.

"We'll figure it out, Peter," Stiles said simply when he followed him to the bathroom like a lost puppy. Which was ironic for very clear reasons.

While washing the puppy, he curiously glanced at himself in the mirror and expected dark bags under his eyes with how tired he was. He knew Peter was going through shit right now, but fucking hell, he's a full grown werewolf who can handle some magic. Stiles just sprinted for his life through the woods in the middle of the night, and he's only human. Just let him _rest._

He'd wash this puppy, fix his bed, and then go to sleep. For just a moment, he thought about kicking Peter out but that thought was quickly tossed through the window. He figured a scared Peter was a serious harm to the public, so he'd have to let him stay.

Fuck his life.

Peter stayed silent while Stiles washed and dried the squirmy puppy (which he learned was an Aussiedoodle). Just stood there with his shaking hands tucked under his arms and watched with hunched shoulders and a haunted expression. He looked _fragile_ and that's what disturbed Stiles the most. Peter Hale was so far from "fragile" it wasn't even funny, so this is beyond the reaches of humor.

"Your sheets..." Peter mumbled shamefully when they went back to Stiles' room, the puppy now clean from blood and shivering cold. Stiles held the puppy against his chest to try to keep it warm and kicked the blood-stained sheets to the corner of the room. He'd take care of them in the morning.

"I've learned to be prepared," Stiles said, ducking down and pulling out a thick blanket from under his bed and tossing it in a heap on the mattress.

Under his bed were also weapons, a simple potion or two, mountain ash, wolfsbane wrapped and sealed tight in a container but there just in case. And also a rolled up inflatable mattress, pillow and sheet of which he pulled out and set out beside his bed. "You can stay here if you need," Stiles said, pointedly nodding towards the stuff he'd set out. He climbed up on his bed and set the puppy on his stomach as he layed down, wrestling his way under the thick blanket. "I'm not dealing with any of this right now, though. Like, I need _sleep_. And _then_ , if you're still not normal emotionless Peter by the morning, I'll help." The puppy squirmed on his stomach, slipped off his side, then settled happily in the nook between his arm and his side, tucked under the blanket.

Peter stared at Stiles, glanced down at the inflatable mattress, pillow and sheet on the floor with distaste, towards the window with fear, then to Stiles' bed again with longing. Stiles resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Difficult fucking werewolves. "I'm tired, Peter." He just needed to sleep. Then he'd be willing to help. "Please just lay down and let me sleep."

"I don't..." Peter huffed a small, pitiful sigh, then layed down on top of the deflated mattress and curled up on his side, visibly pouting. Still shaking. Shaking worse, now, actually. Stiles rolled his eyes. Peter could handle himself for the night.

He reached over to the lamp, but stopped when Peter said, "I need the light on."

Stiles fingers, hovering over the switch for the lamp, itched to just switch it off. "Seriously?"

" _I know, Stiles!_ " Stiles flinched and closed his eyes, steadying himself. "I _know!_ " Peter growled lowly and the puppy next to his side. Stiles soothed it with a soft hand and took a breath. He had to remind himself that Peter was being magically forced to be scared. Not only is he now even _more_ unstable than usual, but he's also _pissed_ under all the fear. And everyone knows what happens when Peter is feeling literally any emotion at all; creature of habit as he is.

"Fine! We can keep the fucking light on," Stiles said testily, and Peter's growl quieted. He huffed and rolled onto his side away from the lamp, pulling the puppy against his chest. The puppy whined and crawled up until it settled wedged under his chin half on the pillow. He closed his eyes against the light and listened to Peter's breath shutter from beside his bed.

It was fucking ridiculous.

No, he's not ridiculing Peter for being scared. Fuck that - Stiles knows how powerful fear is. What's ridiculous is the god damn universe never giving him a break. First, the Nemeton doesn't react to his experiments. Which, whatever, that wasn't such a big deal. However, it meant he spent three hours out there in the dead of night for no reason. Then, right after that, he's chased by tree monsters that probably wanted to use his fleshy body as fertilizer or something. And he knows that his dad is going to have to lecture him about being in the woods at night alone.

Then he finally shows up at home, and Peter's here, freaking the fuck out. Plus, now he has to deal with a puppy.

And, here's the kicker. First thing tomorrow, he's going to have to go back out and deal with those tree monsters. And if Peter still isn't normal by then, he'll have to deal with figuring that out as well, and that might mean having to kill a nearly immortal creature if it's still alive after getting its throat slashed out and its head crushed.

Stiles layed there for what felt like hours, exhausted yet still unable to stop the noise in his head, stressing about everything he'll have to deal with tomorrow.

He huffed and rolled over just enough to look at the clock. It was nearly 4 in the morning. He'd been laying there listening to Peter's teeth chatter for nearly 3 hours.

He gritted his teeth and peeked over the edge of the bed down at Zombiewolf. Peter was curled up tighter than Stiles thought was possible, arms pulled tight to his chest and a hand covering the back of his neck like that would keep him safe. His blue eyes were open wide, staring deep into the nothingness, face hard and taught. Every muscle was tense and shaking.

Stiles frowned down at him. He couldn't help but feel bad. After all, he knows what it's like to be paralyzed by fear far too well.

He scooped up the puppy in his hand and leaned over the edge of the bed. Peter jerked and stared up at Stiles at the movement. His wary eyes softened just the slightest bit when Stiles reached down and set the puppy in the crook of his elbow. Peter tilted his head and pressed his lips and nose against the puppy's fur.

Peter's breathing was a little calmer after that.

Stiles fell asleep shortly after.

" _Stiles..._ "

Stiles jerked and his eyes opened wide as fuck, heart instantly pounding. That was his dad's voice, and he did _not_ sound happy. Had he ended up coming home and saw Peter fucking Hale on his floor?

No. No, it was even worse. It was _so much worse._ Because sometime while Stiles was asleep, Peter made his way into Stiles' bed and was now spooning him head to fucking toe with the puppy curled up between Peter's hand and Stiles' stomach.

Stiles swallowed, noting that, somehow, Peter was still asleep. "This is _soooo_ not what it looks like."

"What does it look like," the Sheriff asked, voice strangled. "Because I'm having a hard time even drawing a single conclusion."

"It _looks_ like... Um, well, it was a very interesting night for both of us-" The vein on his dad's forehead began to pop out. "And by that I mean I got chased by tree monsters, remember? Remember? And Peter encountered a _fear_ monster! Or something, and it almost killed him but he saved this puppy but he's like hopped up on magical fear-"

"Nevermind." The Sheriff shook his head and rubbed his face. "I don't want to know. I _really_ don't want to know."

"Dad-"

"Just..." He put his hands up and began walking away. "Don't- Don't wake me up for a very, very long time."

Oh thank god. "Ha, will do, daddio," he said like an idiot.

Good. Now all he has to do is figure out his Peter-shaped problem.

Stiles looked down to check on the puppy and, oh, and now the puppy is radiating some kind of ghostly black smoke.

Awesome.

Stiles sighed heavily. "I really fucking love my life right now."

"Love you, too," Peter mumbled under his breath into the back of Stiles' neck.

The boy closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried not to scream.


End file.
